


Until Next Time

by TheLastStraws



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Romance, Satine Kryze Needs a Hug, Satine's POV, love these two stubborn dorks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28423932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastStraws/pseuds/TheLastStraws
Summary: “Obi-Wan,” she said, her whisper catching on the wind to float to his ears.His hood fell from his head as he sharply turned to her, and she saw his eyes widen.“Satine,” he breathed.(Satine and Obi-Wan over the years, from their initial parting to their reunion years later and everything in between.)
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	1. Seventy-Two

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm on a bit of a Star Wars kick at the moment, so here we go with a random story!
> 
> Obi-Wan is one of my favorite Star Wars characters--always has been--and Satine is such a fascinating addition to the Star Wars universe, not only for her role as ruler of Mandalore but as Obi-Wan's romantic interest, so I really wanted to take a stab at creating a story from her point of view. Hopefully it works out and you like the quick little drabble-y thing. Next chapter will be coming soon!

Satine lasted ten hours since Obi-Wan left before she thought of him, and she cursed his image for distracting her. The second time she was eating fruit he’d climbed a tree to get for her, and she cursed him then too. As she did the third time and fourth. It wasn’t until the fifth did the tendrils of sadness coat her curses so they stuck to the inside of her mouth and she was forced to swallow them back down. The sixth she didn’t even try to curse, just let the coating cover her throat. The seventh and eighth happened within minutes of each other, and she felt the longing thicken so she could hardly swallow. 

His missing presence choked her the ninth time. 

Her handmaiden quoted a poem Satine had whispered in his ear their last night together, and her throat was completely filled; she couldn’t speak for fear of what words the coating would taint. She couldn’t breathe for fear of what she’d exhale. She couldn’t even think for fear of what the rest of that memory would shatter. 

She didn’t cry until the sixteenth time. Seventeen and eighteen were less explosive copies of the sixteenth. The twenty-fifth time, she held a comm in her hand, her finger brushing against the number of the Jedi Temple. She imagined his face as a blue-tinged hologram, and her heart beat a little faster. Then she imagined his hands tucked into his robe’s sleeves; she imagined his padawan braid. She imagined Master Qui-Gon standing to his side. She set it down.

The twenty-ninth time she could admit to herself as she stared at his favorite flower she missed him—missed him  _ terribly _ . The thirty-first, she wondered what world he was on, and the thirty-fifth, she wished he would come back—then viciously severed that thought in a way Old Mandalore would’ve been proud.

Thirty-eight, though tinged with those tendrils, found her laughing when she remembered how he fumbled with a fish he’d thought was dead and it smacked him in the face. Master Qui-Gon was the one to fetch their food that night. (She didn’t have the strength to keep track of what she missed of the stalwart Jedi who’d kept her on the right path, too.)

The fortieth time, she could speak of her two Jedi aloud without feeling like her words wouldn’t expose her. It was nice, she thought. And her handmaiden thought the fish story was funny, too.

At forty-two, her half-asleep brain thought he was there next to her as she woke. They’d only had the luxury to sleep in beds—in general or otherwise—a handful of times on their travels, but one hideaway in particular, she remembered the moment before she committed to waking, eyes still closed and glowing a faint dark orange from a stream of light hitting her face. The feel of his head nestled against her neck, her arm brushing against his ribs. She purposely opened her eyes to banish the image and ignored the empty silence without a groggy “ _ my lady _ .”

She wished she could reply with his dry wit in the face of an irritating advisor at forty-five.

The forty-eighth time, she gasped his name from the intimate shelter of her sheets, and the forty-ninth, she was too embarrassed by the last to think much else, though a coldness she wasn’t expecting tickled the places his ghost hands had touched on the fiftieth. She relished the heavy layers of her ceremonial wear the next day, but the chill didn’t abate for the next ten times she thought of him.

She couldn’t sleep after a stressful week of reforming governmental business structures, so sixty-three settled next to her like the memory it was, and her quarters flickered with the light of a lingering fire as Master Qui-Gon whispered tales of truth and love and adventure. That night, her shoulder was pressed to Obi-Wan’s, and she was all too heightened to that fact in the days of shy glances and growing affection. She’d hooked her pinky around his after they were the only two awake, and their whispered words claimed the air around them in a moment of brief privacy before the wind blew them into the night. Were they still drifting in that field, she wondered. Maybe. As she rubbed a finger against her pinky, she thought probably not. 

Her advisors wanted her to marry, and seventy-two encompassed an entire week of reasons why she shouldn’t. 

She stopped counting after seventy-two.

From there, it became merely an acknowledgment. The fish story, the flower, the poetry— _ Obi-Wan— _ then she’d move on. Sometimes Master Qui-Gon would be thrown into her recognitions, but it would be the same, nodding to a ghost before striding into her next meeting.

Months passed, then years.

Then she received a message from him.

She took the hand of her ghosts and watched the stars pass by her on her way to Naboo.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the second chapter already! Can't say when the next is coming since I'm approaching this in a very no-pressure fashion. Luckily, the chapters are pretty self-contained, so if it takes me a while, I'm not leaving anyone on a cliffhanger lol. Enjoy!

It had been four years since she’d seen him last, she realized, though his face was shielded by the dark swath of his hood and the Nabooian night. The only source of light was the crackling, somber flame of the funeral pyre, and she was reminded of those late-night campfire stories, but instead of Master Qui-Gon Jinn across from the flame, he  _ was  _ it, lying supine and quiet and  _ dead _ .

Qui-Gon was dead. 

Her eyes closed as she listened to the crackle and prayer. A priest of Naboo recited an ancient text of passing she didn’t understand, but she could understand the mourning behind the words. That she could definitely understand. Returning to her home after a year on the run, she attended too many funerals, said goodbye to too many people for her not to be familiar.

She would miss the older Jedi. He was kind, strong, dedicated, and patient. He was what she imagined the mystical stories of Jedi were supposed to be—but more  _ real _ . She would forever be grateful to him for the way he’d let her be a scared, young girl whose world ignited in war. And she would thank him for his faith in her for as long as she reigned.

Satine opened her eyes and watched until he faded along with the flame.

The lamps reignited in a soft glow once the fire consumed itself to ash and the remains were moved. Shortly after, mourners wandered away or shifted to converse with other parties. Obi-Wan was curiously trailed by a young boy when he talked with who Satine presumed to be other Jedi; the robes indicated as much.

She kept him in the corner of her eye as she mingled with a few people she knew, though there weren’t many, so she waited patiently to the side after a while, dismissing her guards.

“There are Jedi here,” she said to make them leave. “I will be safe.”

A figure settled next to her, though not the one she was expecting, and she bowed her head.

“Queen Amidala,” she greeted.

She received a bow of equal depth in return. “Duchess Satine.” 

They settled into silence, though not one marred with any sort of tension or expectation. Satine had only just met the young queen on this very trip, but after their first meeting of two tangled headdresses and snorted laughter, she quite enjoyed the girl’s easy company. 

So the two monarchs breathed in the comfort of quiet, and she set her eyes to her Jedi currently kneeling before the same boy. The child seemed distraught, biting his lip, but whatever Obi-Wan said in reply seemed to ease his worries, and a weak smile settled on his face. Another word from the Jedi and the boy was fully smiling, nodding his head.

She noticed one of Queen Amidala’s handmaidens waiting behind the child. He said one final sentence to Obi-Wan and waved to him, then he trotted up to the handmaiden, and they walked away together.

Obi-Wan was alone now.

Her heart throbbed in her chest, a combination of anticipation and nervousness and an overwhelming feeling of  _ Obi-Wan _ , but she quashed it, taking in a breath. She inclined her head to the queen.

“Apologies, but I neglected to give my condolences to Padawan Kenobi. If you’ll excuse me.”

The teen’s stoicism was impressive, for after Satine had told her she knew the Jedi, she knew she was curious about her relationship with them; after all, it was rare enough anyone saw a mysterious Order member let alone spend an entire year with two of them. But the queen merely said, “No apologies necessary.”

Satine made a decided effort to appear unhurried, even when she saw Obi-Wan drift to the outskirts of the gathering, but she maintained her poise as she approached him. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she stood just a couple of feet away from him, and she was grateful he’d decided to take a moment for himself behind a large tree with enough distance from the funeral to hide her weakening facade. 

“Obi-Wan,” she said, her whisper catching on the wind to float to his ears.

His hood fell from his head as he sharply turned his head to her, and she saw his eyes widen.

“Satine,” he breathed.

She wanted to run to him, leap into his arms like some overly dramatic film character. There was an obvious weariness to his posture, and grief dripped off of him in rivulets, but outside of that, he was almost exactly as she remembered. He sported a small ponytail now and his braid was inches longer, but those were superficial changes that barely made her blink. 

He was Obi-Wan, just as she’d thought of him seventy-two plus times.

“You came,” he said, staring at her like he was sure she hadn’t.

“I did,” she said simply in reply.

His face twisted into a multitude of different expressions for just a moment before it settled into a false calm.

“Thank you, Duchess.” He bowed his head in respect just as he had when they departed, and her heart ached at the distance. 

“Your Master was a friend to me, Padawan Kenobi. I’ve come to mourn his passing.” She swallowed thickly. “That is all.”

There were a few beats of silence before he said, “Of course, my lady.”

She sucked in a breath at the title, and he seemed to realize the slip, for his eyes widened, and the two just stared at each other. Memories of those words said in playfulness, seriousness, lust, and affection swirled in her thoughts and no doubt his as well. The moment seemed cavernous the way it sucked the rest of the world into its maw, leaving just the two of them to decide how the next should proceed. The soft chatter of the crowd drifted away as did the distant lights surrounding them. Only the lampposts a few meters in either direction lit their bubble of time.

Obi-Wan was the first to come back to reality, blinking rapidly for a few beats, before he shook his head and said, “I-I apologize.” She bit her cheek at the words, and she took an involuntary step forward. “Forgive my…familiarity.”

“Don’t.” The word escaped her without her thinking, but she didn’t want to take it back. No, she didn’t at all. “Don’t apologize for it. Please.”

She saw his jaw tense, and she held her breath, but he released the muscles after a moment, and his expression softened.

“I won’t.”

Something in her chest lightened at that, and a small smile crept up her lips. “Good.”

He smiled weakly in return. “It is.”

She hadn’t noticed the world widened again until she noted how the crowd was dispersing; Queen Amidala was conversing with her advisor as they departed, her retinue following behind. Only a few Jedi remained, but they were steadily departing as well.

“He’s really gone.” His voice was rough, and it was so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. When she turned to him, he was staring at the empty pyre.

She went to stand next to him, and their shoulders pressed into one another through their thick fabrics. The glow of the lamps painted everything a yellow-orange.

“I will miss him,” she said, and she heard his shaky exhale. The only Jedi left was who she presumed to be Master Yoda; he stood by himself in front of the pyre. She could make out the outline of his long ears against the stone twice his height. 

“I already do,” he whispered, and she felt his hand brush against hers for a moment, just a moment, but she reached until her fingers touched his, and she wrapped her pinky around his. His didn’t hesitate to curl in response.

Wind filtered through the leaves above them as the beads hanging from her headband clattered against each other. The sound was soothing, and she breathed out as the breeze evened.

She was startled when Obi-Wan suddenly released her hand and took a step away from her, but when she saw his eyes trained to the courtyard, she understood. Master Yoda was looking their way.

She couldn’t make out his expression, but something about it must have told Obi-Wan he wanted to speak because she was soon left alone. Obi-Wan kneeled before the old Master, but she didn’t linger her attention on them, only enough to see where Obi-Wan would turn after their conversation ended.

Another breeze whistled by, and her gaze drew upward to watch the branches wave and the leaves jitter. Wind fascinated her. She didn’t experience it within Mandalore’s domes, only feeling the gritty sting of sand if she stood outside of the cities or heard the thundering sand storms beat against the barrier. Wind through the trees, through the grass and between buildings, the sensation was foreign to her. 

She remembered standing on the edge of a cliff during her year on the run, hands outstretched and fingers spread, as she marveled at the feeling of a gentle breeze caressing her skin and tostling her hair. Obi-Wan had looked at her as if she were mad while Qui-Gon merely closed his eyes and smiled as another gust zoomed by them.

“You waited.”

She tilted her head back down to meet those stormy blue eyes of his.

“So I did.”

Yoda was walking away, and she loathed how her heart skipped at the thought of them being alone. But she noticed his expression, and her enthusiasm dimmed.

“You have to leave,” she realized.

One corner of his lip pulled into an expression of remorse. “Yes.”

Silence descended, and not even another wind interjected with sound.

“Then…this means goodbye again,” she said.

Again, just, “Yes.”

But she waited in anticipation when he drew in a breath to speak.

“May I say something else instead?”

“Yes,” she breathed out immediately, taking a step closer to him until she was close enough to touch. 

There was just a moment of hesitation as he searched her face before he said, tone unsure, “Until next time.”

A tension in her chest released. “Until next time.” She paused. “Obi.”

This time it was his turn to suck in a breath, and she felt strangely satisfied at the reaction. She had more to say, though.

“I will always be grateful for your protection, you and Qui-Gon.” She reached out to touch his cheek. “Know that he will be remembered fondly, and know you will be in my thoughts as you grieve.”

Despite how much she was sure he wanted otherwise, pain shifted his face, and he clenched his eyes shut. His hand came up to grasp onto hers. He took a few moments to collect himself then let his eyes drift open. 

“Thank you.” He shifted her hand so he could gently press a kiss to the knuckles. “Thank you.”

They held each other’s gaze for as long as they could, but they knew they had to part ways, and they released their hands at the same time.

“Until next time,” she repeated, and he did the same.

“Until next time.”

They walked away in opposite directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a headcanon of mine that Satine was there at Qui-Gon's funeral. She knew him for a year of constant interaction, after all, so I imagine she was there not only to support Obi-Wan but to mourn for him herself. Hope you liked it!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think :)


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